


An Unexpected Bond

by myredturtle



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dwarf Gender Concepts, F/M, Female Thorin Oakenshield, Sentinel/Guide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myredturtle/pseuds/myredturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is a sentinel, and sentinels don't leave the Shire. He's resigned himself to a life without adventure, when he finally meets his guide. Who promptly turns up his nose at him and calls him a grocer.</p><p>Well, whether his guide accepts him or not, there's no WAY Bilbo is letting him run off to face a dragon all by himself. And if that means he gets to have an adventure as well? All the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Bond

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of my entries to the July 2015 Little Black Dress challenge on Rough Trade. Thank you Keira Marcos for providing us with a safe and challenging environment in which to write and hone our skills.
> 
> Also, thanks to my beta Saydria Wolfe! Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Bilbo Baggins was born in the year 1290 by Shire reckoning to Bungo Baggins, sentinel, and Belladonna Took, guide.

 

He grew up exploring the woods with his trusty pack, usually containing just enough food for two meals, and listening to his mothers tales of adventure outside the Shire. At night, he dreamed of far off places and people. As a child, he was determined that as soon as he came of age he would set out on his own big adventure to Rivendell to meet Lord Elrond, an elf his mother spoke of fondly.

 

These plans all fell apart when Bilbo was twenty one.

 

As one of the Shires only two sentinels, Bungo Baggins had tried to warn his fellow hobbits that the winter would be a tough one, but the majority either did not heed his warnings, or prepared only minimally. There were those that took note and began rationing and building up the wood piles immediately, but they were few and far between.

 

That winter was the longest, coldest winter in the memory of any hobbit alive. The Brandywine River froze solid, and wolves and orcs crossed over into the Shire, dealing death where ever they went. Even those areas not plagued by wolves and orcs weren't spared, as an early frost had killed much of the previous fall's harvest before it could be gathered. The bitter cold coupled with short rations saw many hobbit either freeze or starve to death.

 

Bungo and Belladona did their duty and tried to save as many hobbits as possible, moving from smial to smial to ensure everyone in Hobbiton and its closest surrounds had enough food and firewood. Sometimes they would bring several badly off hobbits and their supplies to stay with a family in a better position. Many hobbits had the Bagginses to thank for their lives.

 

While they were away on their rounds, Bilbo was left at Bag End with some of the more sickly hobbits, to tend and care for them.

 

It was while his parents were away that the wolves came.

 

By the end of the day three wolves were dead, but Bilbo was badly hurt, and had awakened as a sentinel.

 

It wasn't until his parents arrived and were able to see to his injuries that the full import of what that _meant_ occurred to Bilbo.

 

Bilbo was a sentinel, and sentinels did not leave the Shire. What adventures might be forgiven in a guide would not be tolerated for a sentinel, as sentinels were the Shires best defence against trouble. So Bilbo unhappily put away his dreams of adventure and his longing for foreign sights and learned from his father how to use his senses.

 

At first he was worried about the need to find a guide, but his father reassured him.

 

“That old myth! A sentinel doesn't need a guide to use his senses, lad,” Bungo said one evening, puffing away at his pipe. “They just make it much easier and more reliable.”

 

Bilbo was confused, so his father elaborated.

 

“It's like our lovely cooking oven,” Bungo gestured vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “A wonder to cook with, and once you know how to use it, you can get splendid results every time. But if we didn't have an oven, does that mean we couldn't cook our food?”

 

“No,” Bilbo replied thoughtfully. “I've cooked over a campfire many times.”

 

“Bet the result wasn't quite as good though, mmm?” Bungo said smugly. “No, a guide isn't _needed_ , precisely. But we don't go around telling everyone that.”

 

“Why not?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Because we can't explain to non-sentinels just why we _do_ need guides,” Bungo explained, blowing a smoke ring. “It's instinctual, and most hobbits just don't understand. But once you find your guide, you will follow and protect them for the rest of your days.”

 

“Is that why-” Bilbo broke off and looked at his feet, twiddling with his toes.

 

“That's why your mother no longer goes on adventures,” Bungo nodded. “She always knew they might one day come to an end, and when she realised she was my guide she decided to content herself to the more mundane adventures that can be found here in the Shire. But until we met I did just fine. Don't you worry, my lad. Your guide will arrive when he or she is ready.”

 

And so Bilbo settled down. If he spent rather more time reading of far off lands than his father would recommend, then that was his business. Bilbo knew his duty, and was resigned to spending the rest of his life where he was.

 

Fifteen years after the Fell Winter, Bungo took to his bed one day complaining of a sore stomach. Within a month Bilbo and Belladonna were burying him. Eight years later Bilbo was standing alone at his mother's graveside.

 

He longed to get away, to travel so that his loneliness wasn't so suffocating, but true to his father's teachings he remained in the Shire.

 

The years continued to pass, and no guide arrived to ease his loneliness. On his fiftieth birthday, Bilbo buried the last of his hope as deep as it would go. After all, life goes on. Doesn't it?

 

v^v^v^v

 

One morning several months later, as Bilbo was enjoying a pipe outside his front door, he was visited by a wizard. The very wizard that used to go on adventures with Belladonna, in fact. Hiding his shock, he greeted the wizard cordially enough, blowing smoke rings as he racked his brain trying to remember the old fellows name.

 

“Very pretty!” the old wizard said. “But I have no time to blow smoke rings this morning. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone.”

 

Bilbo went cold, and then hot. The nerve of the man! To waltz up to him and wave an adventure under his nose like that, as if it wasn't the cruellest torture imaginable! Well, other than having to miss second breakfast, that is. Bilbo was broken hearted and incensed all at once. He told the wizard (Gandalf! Of course!) to take his adventure elsewhere, and grabbing his letters from the letterbox, went back into Bag End, slamming the door behind him.

 

The encounter rattled poor Bilbo badly enough that he went to bed early that night, but the next day he awoke much refreshed and in a better frame of mind. It was true that he would have loved to go on an adventure, but the chance was beyond him now and he just had to get on with things.

 

He'd been thinking about expanding his herb garden for a while, and now seemed like a good time to do some planning. And if he occasionally picked up the wrong book when he needed to look up what kind of soil basil prefers, then that was just a mistake anyone could make. And of course he needed to open it and read a bit to see just what it was he'd picked up. That's just common sense.

 

And so Bilbo whiled away the day in his study, ostensibly planning his herb garden.

 

By afternoon tea time there hadn't been much planning accomplished, but Bilbo was almost back on an even keel. That evening he was just sitting down to a light dinner when he heard booted footsteps coming up the path, approaching the door.

 

Bilbo's parents had both been rather practical souls in their different ways, and he had inherited that common sense practicality in full measure. So two strangers in two days didn't seem as much like a coincidence as one might think. Still, he'd been brought up with good manners, and so he answered the door when the stranger finally knocked.

 

There was a dwarf standing on his doorstep, armoured and bearded, with tattoos on his bald head.

 

“Dwalin, at your service,” the dwarf said perfunctorily, handing Bilbo his things and wandering off in the direction of Bilbo's dinner.

 

That proved to be a foreshadowing of things to come.

 

Less than an hour later, he had twelve dwarves and one wizard cluttering up his usually spacious smial. Despite the short notice and the number of guests, Bilbo was able to at least find enough food for them, even if it wasn't up to his usual standards.

 

Despite his questioning, no one would tell him what, exactly, was going on. They seemed to be waiting on yet another dwarf who would be here later. When he heard that, Bilbo put a plate aside so that the poor unfortunate fellow wouldn't have to go without dinner, since his companions seemed able and willing to devour everything in his pantry, given half a chance.

 

Thankfully his unexpected guests were only too happy to help with the clean-up.

 

As the last dishes were put away, Bilbo heard the now familiar sound of heavily booted feet approaching his front door. He was moving towards the door even before the knock sounded, opening it to find another dwarf on his doorstep.

 

But there was something different about this one.

 

Bilbo could feel a pull towards him, a desire to touch, to smell, to taste. This dwarf was his guide! The one he'd given up waiting for, finally at his door!

 

Bilbo dragged himself back to reality in time to hear his guide berate Gandalf for the directions he was given, mentioning a mark on the door.

 

“What mark? There's no mark on my door, it was painted only last week!” Bilbo objected, his mind latching onto the triviality.

 

“There is a mark,” Gandalf said. “I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

 

Bilbo smiled at the dwarf, about to greet him as was proper for a sentinel upon first meeting his guide, but Thorin spoke first.

 

“So, this is the Hobbit. Tell me, Mr Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

 

“Pardon me?” Bilbo said, derailed slightly by the unexpected question. Was this how all dwarf guides greeted sentinels? Or perhaps Thorin didn't feel the same pull that Bilbo did?

 

“Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?”

 

“Well, I have some skill at Conkers, if you must know, but I fail to see why that’s relevant.” Bilbo replied, his annoyance starting to override his shock.

 

“Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” Thorin said dismissively, before walking past Bilbo to join the other dwarves.

 

Bilbo just stood there a moment, stunned.

 

So his guide was rejecting him. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, not really, but there was a large part of him that wanted to go and hide in his bedroom and pretend that the last two days hadn't happened. Not only was he going to miss out on an adventure, but he now knew for certain that he would be alone forever.

 

Bilbo mechanically put Thorin's rather lukewarm dinner in front of him and listened while the dwarves talked about their quest. Gandalf got out a map, and Bilbo gave it a cursory glance, still too wrapped up in his own despair to pay too much attention.

 

Until the dragon was mentioned, that is.

 

A dragon?

 

His guide was going on a quest and expected to have to fight a dragon? Oh, there was talk about the possibility of the dragon's death, but Bilbo wasn't an idiot and Thorin didn't look like one either. Dragon's don't die of old age. If something had already killed the dragon, then that meant that there was potential for something much worse to be found in the mountain. What that could be, Bilbo wasn't sure. What could kill a dragon, after all? Perhaps a balrog?

 

One of the younger dwarves mentioned the need for a burglar.

 

“Yes, a good one too. An expert, I'd imagine.” Bilbo replied, still thinking about the dragon.

 

“He said he's an expert! Hey, hey!” one of the other dwarves cried, and Bilbo hurried to correct him.

 

“Me? No, no, no, no, no. I've never stolen a thing in my life!” There was some agreement from one of the older dwarves, but Gandalf was adamant. Bilbo was rapidly losing his temper.

 

“All right then, give him the contract.” Thorin said.

 

Bilbo didn't know whether to be happy Thorin seemed to accept the need for his presence on this quest or dejected that it was so begrudgingly given. He was handed a contract and automatically began to look it over.

 

Well, someone had done a rather clever job of this. If Bilbo was correct, and he often was, this contract promised him nothing but the assurance of a nice funeral in the event of his death.

 

Oh, it was all couched in misleading terms – 'up to but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if any' looked promising, considering that a dragon wouldn't have bothered invading if there wasn't a lot of gold, but in reality it meant that the dwarves would be able to send him home with nothing and still be within the contracts terms.

 

There was also a long list of possible injuries he might suffer that the dwarves were not to be held responsible for, but if one looked around all that talk of evisceration and incineration, the contract basically ensured that Bilbo's companions could not be held accountable if they decided to murder him rather than have him complaining that they weren't sharing the wealth.

 

Another clause promised him the same rations as the dwarves, but Bilbo was a hobbit, not a dwarf, and what if he required special dietary requirements?

 

Also, on the very first line he was described as 'the hobbit to be henceforth referred to as the Burglar'. The rest of the document called him 'the Burglar' throughout, and Bilbo wasn't having any of that, no thank you!

 

Oh, he was going along. There was no way he was going to send his guide off to fight a dragon by himself. Not when Bilbo's presence might be of some service. But there was no way he was signing this contract, not as it read at present. And he was inclined to pay Gandalf back a little for foisting thirteen dwarves on him with no notice. So he shook his head as he rolled the contract back up.

 

“I'm sorry,” Bilbo said to the dwarf who handed him the contract in the first place. “I can't sign this. And I can't just go running off into the blue. I'm a Baggins of Bag End. I have responsibilities.”

 

Gandalf gave him a big speech about being a Took as well as a Baggins, and reminded him of how he used to long for adventure. If Bilbo's guide hadn't been in the group of dwarves going, Bilbo would have been ready to skewer the wizard with his cooking knife. But since he'd already made the decision to go, he merely listened in silence before nodding once.

 

He turned to the waiting dwarves and invited them to make themselves comfortable and then bade them good night and retired to his study. He had a lot that needed to be prepared if he was going on an adventure, after all.

 

v^v^v^v

 

The next morning he was up bright and early, but still not in time to catch the dwarves before they left. This actually suited Bilbo rather well, and he whistled merrily to himself as he pulled his mothers old travel pack out of storage.

 

He filled it with everything he thought he'd need, and then added a little more. He made sure to include all his easily stored and eaten dried food, and found himself rather grateful that the dwarves had cleaned out all his fresh produce. He grabbed the contract that someone had left behind on his table, if nothing else it would good for a laugh with Uncle Isumbras.

 

When he felt he was ready, Bilbo went out the front door, locking it behind him. He took a deep breath of the brisk morning air, and felt a smile cross his face. He was finally going on an adventure and he'd found his guide. Of course, said guide wanted nothing to do with him, but two out of three wasn't bad, right?

 

Setting off down the lane, Bilbo made his first stop at Holman Greenhand's gate. Holman was already out digging in his vegetable patch, and he looked very surprised indeed to see Bilbo Baggins standing there with a huge smile on his face, carrying a pack almost bigger than he was.

 

“Good morning, Holman!” Bilbo called, opening the gate and letting himself in.

 

“Good morning Mr Baggins, sir.” Holman greeted him with wide open eyes.

 

“My guide has turned up, Holman!” Bilbo said enthusiastically. “Unfortunately he has business to the east, and it might be dangerous, so I'm obliged to go along. I've locked up Bag End, but would you mind seeing to the garden and collecting the rents in my absence? I'm heading off to see the Thain to make sure everything's right and tight there, but I would be grateful if I could get your agreement before I see him.”

 

“Of course, Mr Baggins sir!” Holman agreed, touching his cap. “Congratulations! I'll keep the place looking fine, and it won't be the first time I've had to take care of the rents.”

 

“No indeed it won't,” Bilbo laughed. “Double your usual pay and take it from the rent money until I get back. I'll have my Uncle send one of my cousins over to pick up what remains on a regular basis.”

 

“Goodbye, Mr Baggins!” Holman called after him as he set off again down the road. “Good luck!”

 

Bilbo knew the path that the dwarves would be taking, the most direct road east. He had heard that in three days they intended to stop at Bree overnight and he aimed to catch up to them before then. Still, the dwarves were riding ponies and needed to keep to the main road which would slow them down considerably.

 

Bilbo, on the other hand, knew the Shire like the back of his hand. He was a sentinel in his territory, and fewer beings could cover ground in the Shire quicker than a hobbit sentinel.

 

It was early evening when he reached Tuckborough and the Great Smials. The day spent in the sunshine had only improved his mood, and he likely gave his relatives quite the shock.

 

Bilbo hadn't smiled so much since before the Fell Winter. As the years had passed he'd grown more and more Bagginsish, so to see him tired and smiling and clearly off on adventure was no doubt a welcome surprise.

 

Until they remembered he was a sentinel, of course.

 

Even Tooks knew which laws could and couldn't be broken. Especially Tooks, as a matter of fact.

 

But Bilbo wasn't concerned. After sitting himself at the Thain's table and eating enough for two hobbits, he asked for an audience.

 

The audience began out in Uncle Isumbras' potting shed, as the Thain's wife did not approve of his pipe smoking habit.

 

“Well then, young Bilbo. Care to tell your old Uncle why it appears that the Shire's sentinel looks packed for an adventure?” the Thain asked, puffing away industriously at his pipe.

 

“Gandalf came to ask me on adventure,” Bilbo began. “I refused, of course. But the old meddler doesn't take 'no' for an answer, and he turned up yesterday towing thirteen dwarves along with him, apparently determined to change my mind.”

 

Isumbras' eyebrows were beetling together, so Bilbo hurried his story along.

 

“I was still prepared to say no, but the last dwarf to arrive was my guide, Uncle.”

 

The beetled eyebrows shot skyward.

 

“A dwarf you say?” Isumbras took a final drag, before tapping the ashes from the pipe bowl into an empty flower pot. “Come on inside. A dwarf, of all things! Oh, if my sister could see this! She'd be overjoyed that the Took in you has overcome the Baggins, despite you being a sentinel.”

 

Bilbo followed Isumbras into the Official Study and watched as his Uncle transformed into the Thain of the Shire in front of his eyes.

 

“Sentinel Bilbo, you have come before me today to announce that you have found your guide, is that correct?” the Thain asked, opening his daily log and inking a pen.

 

“Yes, sir.” Bilbo said respectfully, remembering the times he had watched his grandfather transform in the same manner.

 

“Please state the name of your guide for the record.”

 

“My guide is Guide Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarf.” Bilbo said obediently, unprepared for his Uncle to drop his pen and stare at Bilbo aghast.

 

“Thorin Oakenshield? Bilbo, please tell me this is one of your pranks!”

 

“Ah, no sir.” Bilbo replied, surprised. “He has gathered a company and plans to take his mountain back from the dragon Smaug, far to the east.”

 

“Don't take me for a fool, boy, do you think I know nothing of world affairs?” the Thain said, his head in his hands. “We've traded with the Blue Mountains for years now, and well do I know the name of Thorin Oakenshield, their leader! I also know of the mountain you speak of. It is called Erebor. And Smaug is a fire-drake who sacked an entire city of men and stole a well-defended dwarven mountain in a single afternoon! Are you _sure_ that Oakenshield is your guide?”

 

“Yes, Uncle.” Bilbo said, shifting uncomfortably.

 

“And of course you must go with him.” Isumbras got up and went over to stand in front of the painting gracing one wall, a large picture of Gerontius Took and his wife, surrounded by their many children.

 

When he turned back, Bilbo was startled to see how old his Uncle looked all of a sudden.

 

“Yes, I must go.” Bilbo agreed.

 

“And you have come to take leave of the Thain, as is correct and proper.”

 

“The Thain, and also my family.” Bilbo returned.

 

“Oh, don't try to bamboozle me,” the Thain said shrewdly, taking his seat again. “You'd have liked nothing more than to go after them with nary a word to anyone.”

 

“Perhaps,” Bilbo grinned sheepishly. “In any event, I had too much that needed to be seen to, and both the wizard and my guide deserve a little payback, so they don't know I'm coming. Here, last night I made up my Will, in case I do not come back from this mad venture. There are few bequests, but I wanted to speak to you personally about Bag End.”

 

“Want me to make sure those Sackville-Bagginses keep their sticky fingers away from your property, do you?” Isumbras gave his familiar chortle. Bilbo was relieved that his uncle seemed back in his usual spirits. If they were perhaps a little forced, Bilbo was able to ignore that for the moment.

 

“I've left Holman Greenhand in charge of collecting the rents and told him he's to take double his usual pay before handing the rest of the funds over to you, or perhaps Fortinbras, if you care to send him over every couple of weeks.” Bilbo remarked, finally taking a seat as the Thain began writing in his daily log.

 

“Yes, yes, it will do the boy good to stir himself a bit.” Isembras looked up at Bilbo. “What was it about Bag End that you wanted to say? I'll write it down here and you can sign it, that way there should be no questions about the validity of what you wrote in your Will.”

 

“As everyone knows, my father built Bag End for my mother,” Bilbo began. “But since he was starting from scratch he made sure it was as sentinel friendly as it was possible to be. If I don't come back, I would like Bag End to be available for other sentinels, with preference to go the way of Took or Baggins sentinels, of course.”

 

“Very well,” the Thain blew on the ink to help it dry, and put the ledger aside. “I can see that you have something else on your mind, young Bilbo. Now, now, get it out.”

 

Bilbo wordlessly retrieved the contract from where he'd stashed it at the top of his pack and handed it over to his Uncle.

 

Isumbras read as he unrolled it, muttering away in an increasingly aggravated manner.

 

“Do you mean to tell me that _Thorin Oakenshield_ presented you, the first-born sister-son of the current Thain, with this piece of orc offal and expected you to sign it?”

 

“I don't think that Gandalf mentioned my family lines,” Bilbo answered with a conspiratorial grin. “I know I didn't, especially after my guide referred to me as a grocer, as if that was somehow worthy of disdain.”

 

“He _what_?” Isumbras was starting to go a little red in the face, and Bilbo regretted riling him.

 

“Never mind, Uncle. But you can be assured that I have no intention of signing that document as it reads now.”

 

“Of course you shall not, my boy. Pop out and tell Ferumbras to run and get my brother Hildifons. His is the mind we need to take care of this. And on your way back let the wife know that the three of us will be taking our supper in here tonight. I'll give those uppity dwarves a contract they won't forget in a hurry!”

 

And Bilbo and his uncles spent several hours that night deconstructing the dwarven contract and reconstructing it to protect both parties interests.

 

Bilbo's cousin Fortinbras popped in at one point to find out what was going on, but left again in a hurry when he saw that they were contract-building.

 

“I have years of that tedious business ahead of me, I won't be roped in before then!” he declared but was still finagled into being Bilbo's banker before he managed to escape, speaking bitterly about the evils of curiosity.

 

Finally they had a copy of the contract that all three hobbits were satisfied with. Hildifons had sat in on behalf of the dwarves, pointing out several issues that some of the more shocking of the original clauses had most likely been designed to protect against.

 

One thing that Bilbo was adamant about was the title 'Burglar'. Rather than saying 'the hobbit to be henceforth referred to as the Burglar' the new contract now read as 'the hobbit to be henceforth referred to as Bilbo, Mr Baggins, or Saviour of Dwarves'. Bilbo knew it was a little grandiose, but the last thing he wanted was to go through Middle-Earth being referred to as a thief.

 

Since the dwarves had already shown an unfortunate tendency to dismiss his concerns, he wanted something in writing.

 

Of course, Thorin might decide not to sign this new document. In which case there might be a problem, but Bilbo was counting on Gandalf to at least recognise that this was a fair contract, and to argue on his behalf. And who truly wanted to fence words with a wizard?

 

v^v^v^v

 

Bilbo left Tuckborough the next morning bright and early, his cousin Fortinbras coming along as escort until he met up with Thorin's Company.

 

“It lends a little respectability,” the Thain had said with a sly grin. “Of course, as my heir Fortinbras has sat in on several of the trade delegations from the Blue Mountains. Thorin Oakenshield, at least, should recognise him. Go and come back again, young Bilbo. Take care of yourself and your guide, and may the Lady protect you.”

 

Bilbo pretended not to see the tears in the old man's eyes as they embraced. His mother had been everyone's favourite and as her only child he had always shared in that favour. He knew his departure was upsetting his uncle, but he also knew that even beyond his own wish for adventure, he _had_ to go. Everything in him was urging him to catch up to his guide.

 

“How long do you think it will take?” Fortinbras asked as they set off.

 

“I can't see them getting further than Whitfurrows tonight.” Bilbo mused. “So depending how quickly we go and if we come across anything unexpected in our path, either tonight or sometime tomorrow? It's market day today, and the roads will be busier than usual after all.”

 

“This is going to be one of those trips where you don't want to stop for meals, isn't it?” Fortinbras groaned dejectedly. “I should have thought of that before I volunteered.”

 

“Didn't your father send you?” Bilbo said, amused at his cousin's long face.

 

“Bite your tongue! Of course I volunteered, I'm much too old to be ordered about by my father. Even if he is the Thain.”

 

“If you say so,” Bilbo agreed, and chuckled quietly to himself.

 

In the place just beyond normal sight, he could see his spirit guide prowling ahead. The Lynx, which he had nicknamed Gerry in honour of his grandfather, wasn't usually quite so present. Bilbo assumed it had something to do with finding his guide, and decided not to worry about it.

 

The day was bright and sunny, and once Fortinbras stopped his complaining the trek was enjoyable. As the day wore on, Bilbo could feel the tug of his guide getting stronger, and was soon able to discern how far along the road the dwarves had gone. They were either making bad time, or something had happened to upset their journey. Bilbo adjusted his trajectory accordingly, choosing not to mention this to his cousin.

 

Sure enough, late that afternoon Bilbo Baggins once more met up with the company of Thorin Oakenshield. This time, _Bilbo_ was the unexpected one, and he greatly enjoyed the look on his guide's face as he approached from the road _in front of them_.

 

“Good evening!” Bilbo called cheerily, waving to the staggered looking dwarves, winking at Gandalf who was looking greatly amused. “You'll want to stop for the night just up ahead, I think. It's the only suitable spot for quite some way and you probably don't wish to be stumbling about in the dark. Cousin Fortinbras, this is Mr Dwalin. Why don't you show Mr Dwalin here the way?”

 

Oh, Bilbo just knew that he was going to treasure this memory forever. Fortinbras lived up to his blood and managed to hide any sign of nervousness at being confronted with so many large, dangerous looking dwarves, and bowed slightly to Dwalin.

 

“Oh, Mr Dwalin and I have met, Cousin Bilbo, never fear. This way, Mr Dwalin. And how did you find the salted pork, Mr Dwalin? Was it to your liking?”

 

Bilbo took off his pack and removed the new contract from its place at the top, along with a letter addressed to Thorin from Uncle Isembras.

 

“I couldn't sign the contract you offered me, not as it was written,” he said cheerfully as he passed both documents to Thorin. “And when I discussed it with my uncle, he quite agreed. So we've put together something I think will be beneficial to us all, and quite in the spirit of the quest that's been embarked on. Let me know your thoughts.”

 

With that, Bilbo moved over to where Gandalf towered above the dwarves on his horse. He looked up at the grey clad wizard and offered a sunny grin.

 

“Uncle Isumbras asked me to tell you that he's quite cross with you and the next time you want some of the special Longbottom Leaf you'll need to give him a bit of an explanation.” Bilbo watched happily as Gandalf's smile grew rather fixed.

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” the wizard muttered. “I'll make sure I stop by.”

 

“Well then,” Bilbo beamed around at the dwarves who were still looking at him like they expected him to turn into an orc at any moment. “I'm famished! Let's get some dinner.” And he turned around and trotted after Fortinbras and Dwalin, barely holding in his sniggers.

 

v^v^v^v

 

Most of the time being one of the Shire's few sentinels was more of a drag than anything else. Bilbo wasn't allowed to go on adventures, was expected to always know all the gossip, and had to make himself available to anyone who wanted an analysis of their soil or a prediction about the weather.

 

A lot of hobbits seemed to be deeply confused as to just what a sentinel could achieve, and Bilbo also found himself blessing new construction and inspecting the work done on mill stones and water wheels as well.

 

But right this very moment being a sentinel was grand indeed. Bilbo sat next to his cousin by the fire, toasting his feet happily as he listened to the conversation taking place somewhere behind him.

 

“A word, Tharkûn.” Thorin growled, rather sexily actually, at Gandalf.

 

If the company leader thought their discussion was private he was wrong indeed. Ah well, Bilbo would have to remind his guide that as a sentinel, he did in fact have five enhanced senses. Eventually.

 

“What is it, my dear fellow?” the grey wizard asked, with no sign of trepidation in his voice.

 

“Why is it that you failed to inform me that the 'superlative burglar' that you were obtaining for us was the eldest sister-son of the Thain?”

 

There was the sound of paper crinkling, and it didn't take much imagination to see the letter that Uncle Isumbras had insisted on writing being waved about accusingly.

 

“My dear Thorin, you did not ask.” Was that a touch of reproach in the old wizard's voice?

 

“Are you trying to play me for a fool, old man? Do you know the kind of damage we may have done to our trading agreement by treating Mr Baggins as a known and practised thief? The Thain is _deeply_ unhappy, Tharkûn. I know that because he underlined the word 'deeply' twice, and an upset Thain could herald a long lean winter for my people.”

 

“How you and your fellow dwarves choose to treat new acquaintances is entirely your own responsibility, and none of mine.” There was definite reproof in Gandalf's voice this time. “No one insisted you treat Bilbo as a criminal. Your bad manners and the result of them is your own doing. Also I believe you do Isumbras a disservice by thinking that he would leave your people to starve over one diplomatic gaffe, even one as big as this.”

 

“My people are not accustomed to generosity from other races.” Thorin said, his voice heavy with a significance that Bilbo had no reference to.

 

“Neither are the hobbits.” Gandalf replied.

 

Bilbo wished he could see their faces, but twisting around in order to do that would be a bit obvious. And a camping site was distressingly short of the sort of reflective surfaces he usually liked to utilise in his spying.

 

There was a brief silence.

 

“What were your thoughts on the contract Bilbo presented you with?” Gandalf's voice this time held only curiosity.

 

A deep sigh reverberated through the air.

 

“At first glance it seems fair enough, Balin is giving it a more thorough look over as we speak. Aside from a few trifling irregularities, it will likely pass muster, and at this point I am not inclined to argue. The Thain's son is waiting to take a signed copy back to his father, and I for one don't want to jeopardize this falls food supplies any more than they already have been.”

 

“Good, good.”

 

There was a crackle and then the smell of Longbottom Leaf was on the air, prompting Bilbo to pat down his pockets for his leaf and pipe. A smoke right now seemed like a fine idea.

 

“Well, then. It all seems to have turned out remarkably well, don't you think?”

 

“I don't know how much use he'll be as a burglar, but he seems to have his wits about him.” Was the grudging reply.

 

Bilbo had overheard much worse about himself over the years, and Thorin's words gave Bilbo a slight hope that perhaps one day his guide might accept him. Until then, he would do his best to be of service and keep the stubborn dwarf safe.

 

And have some fun, of course. He might be going to his death by dragon, but Bilbo was the son of Belladona Took, and he intended to do her proud. He'd been doing his father proud for years now, after all. It was time his mother got a look in.

 

His musings were interrupted by the two young dwarves, Fíli and Kíli, planting themselves on either side of the two hobbits sitting by the fire.

 

If only Bilbo could remember which was which. It didn't help that they smelled quite similar.

 

“So Mr Boggins,” began the dark haired one. “We hear that you're the first-born sister-son of the Thain.”

 

“I am indeed,” Bilbo answered, packing the leaf in his pipe bowl expertly. “And the name is Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, Mr Dilly.”

 

The blond one hooted with laughter. “He's got you there, Kíli!” said Fíli — Bilbo was glad to have that clarified without having to ask—. “Well then, as one first-born sister-son of a ruler to another, I greet you, Bilbo Baggins.”

 

“Greetings, Fíli,” Bilbo nodded and smiled as he looked at the two of them a little more carefully. “So you are Thorin's sister-sons then?”

 

“Aye, that we are,” Kíli replied. “Of course, as the eldest Fíli is the important one. The heir. He's the one who's going to have to be in charge one day. I pretty much get to do what I like.”

 

“What of Thorin's sons and daughters? Will they not inherit?” Bilbo asked, a bit surprised.

 

“Uncle Thorin has shown no interest in reproducing.” Fíli shrugged. “And if he were to have any at this point they would likely be placed after me in the succession, for unless Uncle Thorin lives an exceptionally long life any dwarfling of his would still be considered too young to take the throne.”

 

“Would a dwarfling of Thorin's taking your place as heir bother you at all?” Bilbo asked shrewdly. “I know my cousin Fortinbras here has often wished he had brothers that he might foist the Thain-ship onto, but a Thain is different from a King.”

 

“It certainly is,” Fortinbras agreed. “If I was told I was to be made King of the Shire rather than Thain, you wouldn't see me for the dust.”

 

“I don't think that any right minded person wants to be a king.” Fíli mused, settling back on his elbows. “Not if they know what it really means, that is. But someone's got to do it and Thorin has pointed out that it is better that we who don't long for power over others should have it, than to pass it to someone who might misuse it. I know what is required of me, and I am preparing take up that burden. But would I be bothered if Thorin had an heir of the body to take my place as first heir? No, that wouldn't bother me at all.”

 

“Lady bless us, I know what you mean.” Fortinbras laughed. “Unfortunately I don't have even that small sliver of hope of escape. Best of luck, my friend, and long-life to your Uncle. And my father too of course.”

 

There was a moment of camaraderie, broken by Kíli.

 

“Is the Thain really upset with Thorin?” The dark haired young dwarf seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. “We've come to depend on trade with the Shire to get us through the winter, and our bearer has been left in charge of Ered Luin.”

 

“Oh, don't worry yourselves over that,” Fortinbras waved away Kili's concerns. “He's not going to hold his anger with Mr Oakenshield over you all. My father would sooner cut off his own feet than be party to the suffering of young ones so long as the Shire has enough to feed us, we'll have the wagons ready for the dwarves.”

 

Bilbo patted the nearest dwarf on his blond head. He was about to add his assurances to his cousin's, when saw Balin approaching Thorin with the contract and decided to eavesdrop instead.

 

“It's most cleverly worded,” the old dwarf commented, “and aside from changing how Mr Baggins is to be referred to, I think we can safely sign it. There are even some clauses here that I didn't think to add about the need to keep racial secrets confidential after the quest is over. Most thorough.”

 

“Does the wording about Mr Baggins put us in any danger, or place us under any obligation that the rest of the document doesn't?” Thorin asked quietly.

 

“Not as such, no.” Balin answered after a moments thought.

 

“Then we'll sign it as is,” Thorin stated. He held up a hand to halt the objection that Balin was clearly about to make. “No, Balin, the Thain has every right to demand reparations for the way we treated his sister-son, and some trifling wording in a contract isn't too much to concede. Leave it. We'll sign the thing and then be on our way. Hopefully this will be the end of it.”

 

“You don't really believe that, do you?” Balin asked sceptically.

 

“It doesn't really matter, one way or the other.” Thorin sounded weary. “By this time next year, we'll either all be dead or we'll have control of Erebor and her fortunes again. Gandalf has assured me that the Thain will not hold a grudge with me against our people, and I must take him at his word, for we have no time to do anything else.”

 

“It's up to you, of course.” Balin replied, his reservations clear in his voice. “Very well then, we should get this taken care of.”

 

Bilbo sat smoking unconcernedly as the two dwarves approached.

 

“Mr Took, Mr Baggins, we accept the terms of the contract you have presented,” Thorin said stiffly.

 

“Wonderful!” Fortinbras clapped his hands together. “My father will be pleased. Well then, I suppose I'll be leaving you tomorrow morning then, Bilbo. Take care of yourself, and your mmfglr-”

 

Bilbo smiled at the dwarves around him and removed his hand from his cousin's big mouth. He wasn't particularly keen to advertise to any who didn't already know that his guide had rejected him. It was Thorin's right to accept or reject him, of course, but that didn't mean that Bilbo wanted to be the subject of any more gossip than he had to be.

 

“Yes, yes, pass on my thanks to Uncle Isumbras, and keep an eye on my cousin Drogo, would you? He's been showing rather obvious signs of devotion to young Primula Brandybuck. If he's not careful her family will run rings around him. I know there's a slight conflict of interest, what with Primula being our cousin, but she has enough Tooks on her side as it is. Drogo could do with a little help.”

 

“I'm not leaving 'til morning, Bilbo, what _are_ you blathering about?”

 

Sometimes Bilbo despaired about Fortinbras' coming Thain-ship, and this was one of them. Still, his featherbrained cousin seemed to have forgotten what he had been about to say, which was the main thing.

 

v^v^v^v

 

The next morning everyone was on their way bright and early. Bilbo was amused to see Thorin planning to head back towards Hobbiton, until he realised that his guide was one hundred percent serious.

 

Remembering Thorin's earlier claim of getting lost in the Shire twice, a claim that until now he had taken as a jest, Bilbo began to get an inkling of why the dwarves hadn't covered as much distance as he'd thought they would.

 

“Did you leave something at Bag End that you absolutely need?” Bilbo thought that perhaps he should try being polite. No need to put Thorin's back up, of course. Well, not much, anyway.

 

Thorin frowned suspiciously. “No, why do you ask?”

 

Gandalf was standing beside his horse, looking mightily amused.

 

Bilbo felt like kicking him in the ankle, but he'd seen the boots the wizard wore and wasn't going to chance it. A hobbit's feet may be sturdy and strong, but there were limits to everything.

 

“Because you seem intent on heading back there.” Bilbo gestured at the road. “If we're going to Bree, we should go that way.”

 

The glare that Thorin sent towards Gandalf should have been enough to set the wizard on fire, Bilbo thought as the company turned their ponies around.

 

“As the only native of the Shire amongst us, perhaps it would be a good idea if I led the way?”

 

Thorin gave his grudging agreement, but Bilbo wasn't blind to the relief felt by several of the party. Why did they let Thorin lead if his sense of direction was that bad? Was it just that no one wanted to tell him?

 

Luckily, Bilbo had no such problem. And as both sentinel and guide would be leading the party until they got to Bree, he had plenty of time to think up a diplomatic way to do it.

 

“Tell me,” Bilbo began, “do you ride at the front because you are the leader of this company, or because you do not care to converse with your companions?” Or perhaps he would just blurt it out. That could work too.

 

“I ride at the front, Burglar,” Thorin answered, “because it is my duty as leader, nothing more.”

 

“My _name_ is Bilbo Baggins. If you do not wish to call me Bilbo, or Mr Baggins, you may refer to me as 'Saviour of Dwarves'. 'Burglar' is not an epithet I care for.” Bilbo thought he managed that quite well considering that Thorin's patronising tone made him want to slip some castor oil into his next meal and see how superior he felt when he had to stop the entire company several times to take care of the results.

 

There was a momentary silence before Bilbo began again. “Do you think it more important for you to be seen as a dutiful leader? Or for us to get to Erebor by winter?”

 

Thorin cast him a fulminating glance. It made Bilbo feel pleasantly warm, so maybe the dwarf _could_ set people on fire if he tried hard enough? Now was probably not the right time to suggest such a thing.

 

“If you have something to say, _Burglar_ , just come out and say it.”

 

Well, that was just rude. Very well, if he wanted to play it that way, Bilbo was happy to oblige.

 

“If you say so, _Treasure-Hunter_. My point is that no one would think less of you if you stood back and allowed someone with more skill at navigation to travel in front. In fact, you might find they think a leader who can admit his own failings is better than a stubborn idiot who will have them wandering in circles because he won't ask directions and won't take advice.”

 

Actually, Thorin was rather attractive all worked up like that.

 

“ _What_ did you call me?”

 

“I thought I spoke quite clearly, but perhaps you're a little hard of hearing? I called you 'Treasure-Hunter'.” Bilbo felt fairly confident that he could be off his pony and away before any of these dwarves could catch up with him if he needed to. “I also implied you were a stubborn idiot, but I don't think that counts.”

 

“Do you have a death wish, hobbit, that you offer me such a grave insults?”

 

“Do you think being called 'Treasure-Hunter' is somehow more insulting than 'Burglar'?” Bilbo was still speaking in a reasonable, friendly tone of voice. He knew from personal experience that it was _infuriating_.

 

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór, of the line of Durin, rightful King of Erebor! I demand your respect!”

 

“It's all very well for you to say that,” Bilbo replied calmly, “but I have no proof of it. And there's no point in asking your friends to corroborate for you, because of _course_ they're going to agree to whatever you say.”

 

“The wizard can tell you that I speak the truth!” Thorin's eyes were flashing and he had drawn himself up to his full height.

 

When Bilbo turned his head a bit, he could see Fíli and Kíli riding directly behind them, staring with their mouths gaping open at the discussion going on in front of them. Oh well, it would be educational.

 

“You mean the wizard who you said described me to you as a 'superlative burglar'?” Bilbo asked, giving a dismissive sniff. “It's quite clear that _his_ word can't be trusted.”

 

Thorin was left gaping. Bilbo just continued onwards, letting Thorin fume away for a while.

 

“So, back to my original question,” oh if his mother could see this she would be beside herself with laughter! “Do you truly think it's wise to continue being the one to choose the path when you've already proved to be so directionally challenged?”

 

That was apparently enough to set the formerly disdainfully reserved dwarf off, just like one of Gandalf's best fireworks.

 

He ranted and he raved, his hands describing huge arcs in the air as he impugned Bilbo's parents, grandparents and all other relatives back to the War of Wrath. He denounced hobbits in general and Bilbo in particular, adding a long spiel on the treachery of elves for some reason, before swinging back to scornfully decry the need for a hobbit at all, and advising Bilbo to run back to his comfortable hovel in the ground and cower while he and his party of noble, dedicated, and true, dwarves would defeat the dragon and reclaim their homeland, living lives of peace and prosperity while Bilbo grovelled in his hovel.

 

Bilbo hadn't enjoyed a speech so much since the time he was a faunt and his grandmother, Adamanta Took, had a ding-dong row in the market place with Camellia Sackville who had been about to marry his Uncle Longo. _That_ fight had lasted well over an hour, and the amount of dirty linen that had been aired was enough to keep even the most gossipy hobbits happy for _years_. Even now, one only had to mention it at a party to be guaranteed a good time.

 

Thorin looked like he was starting to wind down, most of his ire having being exhausted, so Bilbo thought it was time to wrap this up. They'd passed by a number of very interested looking hobbits in the last few minutes, and Bilbo wouldn't be terribly surprised to discover that the pattering he could hear over the sound of the ponies hooves was a fair of faunts shadowing the road to get a better view.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said to his guide, even as Thorin's hand was raised in an expansive gesture. “I didn't quite catch all of that. Would you mind repeating it?”

 

Thorin gaped for a moment, his arm slowly lowering from its upswept position. Just when Bilbo was wondering if he'd made a miscalculation, Thorin started to rumble. A few moments later the rumble turned into an enormous belly laugh that had the dwarf holding on rather precariously to his pony.

 

Bilbo grinned, and turned to wink at the dumbfounded dwarves following. Things were looking better already.

 

v^v^v^v

 

As Bilbo had hoped, Thorin seemed much less aggravated when he had recovered from his outburst. Which wasn't to be wondered at, really. All hobbits knew that keeping your anger bottled away was a recipe for an upset stomach and an inability to properly enjoy your food. A tragedy by all accounts! Now that the air had been cleared a bit, the ride towards Bree was a great deal pleasanter.

 

Bilbo and Thorin rode for a time in companionable silence, before the dwarven leader cleared his throat.

 

“I do believe you have another apology owing to you, Mr Baggins.”

 

“Please, call me Bilbo,” the hobbit replied easily. “And you don't owe me an apology for the exchange earlier. If anything it's the other way around. I goaded you to a fury on purpose, you know.”

 

“I confess I had suspected it,” said Thorin. “Still, I have not been fair to you since we met, master hobbit. My own kin enraged me, and because I could not take my ire out on them, I transferred it to you, who had done nothing but serve as a gracious host.”

 

“Well, I'm not sure about _gracious_ ,” Bilbo allowed with a wry grin. “I was mad as fire with Gandalf, you know. The dratted fellow didn't warn me to expect guests, so you and your party were _most_ unexpected. And I had already been quite firm the previous day when he had asked me on an adventure. But then, I suppose a wizard doesn't always have to take 'no' for an answer, if he doesn't want to.”

 

“You declined to come?” Thorin looked adorably bewildered. “But Tharkûn told me a month ago that he had just the burglar in mind for me.”

 

“Oh _really_?” Bilbo twisted in his seat to glare at the tall figure in grey riding near the back. Unfortunately Gandalf didn't notice, as he was paying a great deal of attention to whatever the dwarf beside him was saying. It was the one with the intricate braids who kept trying to mother the young dragon-jacksie-enthusiast. Bilbo really needed to find out everyone's names, now that he was in a frame of mind to remember them.

 

Bilbo's glare might have been lost on Gandalf, but Fíli and Kíli appeared suitably cowed. Bilbo gave them both an encouraging smile, and turned back to Thorin. “When Gandalf turned up on my doorstep it was the first time I had seen him in almost thirty years. He invited me on an adventure, I declined, and I thought that was the end of it.”

 

“But if you were so certain you didn't want to come, why are you here?” Thorin asked. “Surely the discovery that we would likely be facing a dragon would only increase your desire to stay home?”

 

“Oh, I never said I desired to stay home,” Bilbo replied. “Quite the reverse. But a hobbit in my position must not leave the Shire, you know. Before you came I had resigned myself to never being able to see the world.”

 

“Position?” Thorin frowned. “I'm afraid I don't understand. What position do you hold that is so important that you could not leave your home? And how is it that _our_ quest is an acceptable alternative?”

 

For the first time since Bilbo had opened the door to his guide, he was shocked beyond speech. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he found his voice.

 

“You mean, you don't _know_?”

 

“If I did, I assure you I would not be asking you about it!” Thorin replied somewhat testily.

 

“I-I'm a sentinel.” Bilbo said. “I thought you knew.”

 

“A sentinel? You mean like in those fairy stories the men tell their children?” Thorin asked, doing his own fish impression but still managing to look majestic. “How in the world would you expect me to know about that?”

 

Oh _dear_.

 

On the positive side, if Thorin didn't know that Bilbo was a sentinel, then it stood to reason that also didn't know that he himself was a guide, and therefore Bilbo hadn't truly been rejected. There was still hope.

 

On the other hand, that meant someone had to tell Thorin what a guide was, and that he was now linked to Bilbo for the rest of his life, whether he acknowledged the link and allowed a bond to form, or not.

 

What fun. Oh, his mother would be rolling on the floor in hysterics. His father would likely be somewhat amused as well, now that he came to think of it.

 

Bilbo heaved a great sigh.

 

“I would like to remind you of the contract we signed, particularly the clause regarding racial secrets.” Bilbo said, trying to get comfortable in his saddle. Oh, how he wished for a pipe full of Old Toby, but for that he'd have to wait.

 

“I remember,” Thorin said. “I signed it only this morning, after all. I assure you, Mr Baggins, that my memory is not as bad as that.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Bilbo managed to dredge a smile up from somewhere. “And please, it's Bilbo. So what exactly have you heard about sentinels then, if you thought they were fairy stories?”

 

“The manlings often played at being sentinels,” Thorin replied, his eyes going a bit distant. “I've never really discussed it, but I gathered that a sentinel was someone important. A great warrior, chosen by the Valar to protect the people.”

 

“Ah,” Bilbo nodded. “Yes, I can see how that could seem like a fairy story. I've never spoken to a sentinel of men, so I don't know how it manifests for them. For hobbits, it is both the same, and very different.

 

“A sentinel is an individual, male or female, who has five enhanced senses. I can see, hear, taste and smell better than any other hobbit, and I can identify the type of rock that makes up grains of sand by touch alone. I can feel the changes in the air that herald a storm long before it arrives, I can hear the sound of rain landing on leaves over in the Old Forest, the other side of Buckland. I could smell my mothers baking from here to Bag End, and I can taste the pinch of nutmeg that gets added to every barrel of Old Toby. I can smell that Dwalin still has several of the biscuits he lifted from my tin, and that he's not shared them with any of the other dwarves.”

 

“I see.” Thorin was nodding slowly, although when he heard Dwalin was hoarding biscuits he snorted. “Dwalin is a fine dwarf, and the most loyal and steadfast of friends. Provided that you don't get between him and his biscuits, that is.”

 

Bilbo smiled, before continuing. “Sentinels are rare, in the Shire. We are taught that each one is a gift from Yavanna, to help the Shire prosper. Sentinels are _for_ the Shire, and so we don't leave, even if we want to. There's only one accepted reason for a sentinel to leave the Shire, and that's to protect their guide.”

 

“Their guide.” Thorin repeated.

 

“Yes.” Bilbo fiddled with his reins, unsure how best to describe this. People in the Shire grew up just knowing these things. He'd never given thought of how to explain them to an outsider.

 

“Every sentinel has a guide, someone they connect with on an instinctive level. No one gets to choose their guide, and gender doesn't seem to matter either. My father was a sentinel, and my mother was his guide. They fell in love and got married, but it doesn't always happen like that. Baldock Hornblower and his guide Rudolph Bolger married other people, and managed just fine.”

 

“What does a guide _do_.” Thorin asked, his eyebrows drawing back together again.

 

“Well, it's hard to explain,” Bilbo stalled, before giving a sigh. “In truth, I don't think they really have to _do_ anything, so to speak. My father told me that being around his guide made using his senses easier, stopped him from getting lost in the sparkle of light on water and such. And once they had bonded, his range increased tenfold.

 

“Sometimes bonded sentinels get other gifts too. For instance, my father had the barest touch of foresight. He warned the Shire of the Fell Winter, you know, but not many paid attention to his warnings. Not enough, certainly. It was a very bad time for us here in the Shire when the Brandywine froze solid. That was the winter I awakened as a sentinel.”

 

“Awakened?”

 

“Until a sentinel awakens, they're just an ordinary hobbit.” Bilbo explained. “It's generally something stressful and life threatening that does it. My father never spoke of his own awakening, but I think it had something to do with the death of his father. Sentinels tend to run in family lines, but not always, and guides do too. The Bagginses are known to produce sentinels, and the Tooks have had several guides, although my mother was the first one in several generations.”

 

“Something happened that winter that awakened you?” Thorin asked, his voice kinder than Bilbo had ever heard it.

 

“My parents were out making deliveries and checking on people,” Bilbo said, remembering that awful, cold day. “There were several sickly hobbits staying with us, and the wood pile was getting low, so I just popped out to the shed to get some more. I was piling up my third armload when I first heard the howls.”

 

Thorin made a noise, but Bilbo was too caught up in the memory to pay attention.

 

“Until then the only problems we'd had to deal with was the shortage of firewood and food.” Bilbo could still feel the bite of wind over fresh snow, could still hear the crunch under his feet, smell the blood on the air. “The howl was so close, I knew I had to get back inside as quickly as possible. I dropped the wood and grabbed the woodaxe, the only thing I could see that even remotely resembled a weapon, and ran as fast as I could to the door. I wasn't quite fast enough.”

 

“Bilbo-” Thorin began, and then muttered something under his breath in a harsh language Bilbo didn't understand, but had heard the dwarves speaking amongst themselves. It was enough to bring him out of his sense memory, and Bilbo smiled waveringly at his guide, who was already helping him, even if he didn't know it.

 

“As you can see, I survived,” Bilbo continued in a lighter tone. “The three wolves didn't. Oh, I didn't come out unscathed, I was in a sick bed myself for most of the rest of that winter, but I healed. And I had awakened, which was taken as sign by some that Yavanna hadn't abandoned us, so that was good too. That renewed hope did a lot for many hobbits, even if I was not so cheerful about it.”

 

“You didn't want to be a sentinel?”

 

“Not really.” Bilbo answered. “I wanted to travel and have adventures. I had maps aplenty, and my favourite thing to do was plan the routes I would take. I was going to set off as soon as I came of age. Awakening put a stop to all of that.”

 

“Which means that if you're coming with us, then your guide is one of our party.” Thorin sighed. “Who is it?”

 

“I'm not sure I should say,” Bilbo replied. Thorin was frowning again, and Bilbo hurried to explain. “I don't know if it's fair for the dwarf in question. The guide has no obligation to the sentinel, after all. And since I'm not a guide, it's not like I can even speak to him about what being a guide involves. I don't actually know. No, maybe it's better if we just leave things as they are.”

 

“You came on this quest because your guide is among us.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You came to keep your guide safe, or as safe as you can.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“If you and your guide bond, your senses will get exponentially better, allowing you to be more effective at that task.”

 

“Ye- Stop it! You are not going to order one of your dwarves to bond with me, Thorin Oakenshield! One thing that I _do_ know about guides is that they feel a pull towards their sentinel. Since none of you seem to be feeling this pull, since none of you recognised me and approached me, that pull is obviously not there! I will _not_ have my guide forced unwillingly into a bond with me! Not by your word or anyone else’s!” Bilbo was angrier than he'd been since Lobelia had petitioned the Thain to have Bag End turned over to her and Otho, 'because it makes no sense for a single hobbit to have all that space for himself, when Otho and I have a growing family'.

 

“What kind of pull?” Thorin asked, ignoring Bilbo's anger.

 

“I don't know, a pull!” Bilbo said, still seething. “For me it was an instant recognition, and then a gentle pull. I'm not sure how it is for guides, as I said.”

 

“Is it me? Am I your guide?” Thorin asked doggedly.

 

Bilbo's anger evaporated. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Now do you see? It would be better if you never knew.”

 

“And what does bonding entail?” Thorin wasn't looking at him, just staring ahead.

 

“I don't know that either,” Bilbo shrugged helplessly. “My father always just said I would know when the time came.”

 

“And what do your instincts tell you?” Thorin caught his gaze.

 

Bilbo felt his face go hot as the blood rushed there.

 

“Ah,” Thorin said, and then quirked a smile. “So along the same lines as what my instincts are saying then?”

 

“Are your instincts telling you that we should share a room when we get to Bree?” Bilbo asked, still blushing furiously.

 

“I suppose Bree will do,” Thorin mused, staring straight ahead again. “There are perhaps a few things we should discuss first, some elements of dwarven culture that are generally not shared with outsiders, but which may affect us in this instance.”

 

“I'm listening,” Bilbo assured him, his blush finally subsiding. His stomach was performing acrobatics, and he couldn't keep the grin off his face if he tried. His guide had accepted him! Provisionally only at present of course, but still! Bilbo hadn't been this happy since his awakening. Telling himself to stop acting like a tween caught up in first blossom-love, he gave Thorin his attention.

 

“It is my understanding,” Thorin began, “that hobbits are like men and elves, in that they separate their people by those who can bear young, and those that sire them. And that the separation is so much a part of your culture that it is referred to frequently in everyday speech.”

 

“That's true,” Bilbo nodded. “Male and female, he and she, him and her, his and hers. Do dwarves not do this?”

 

“Not as such,” Thorin said. “While we have male and female dwarves, all are referred to as 'he' regardless of sex, unless they have borne a child. For the majority, our lives are devoted to our craft, to our passion. Maybe three fifths of us join together with another dwarf as life-mates, and an even smaller number start families.

 

“To bear young means effectively suspending your involvement in or abandoning your craft and instead devoting yourself to your offspring. A dwarf that chooses this path is honoured for her sacrifice, and it is every other dwarf's duty to assist her as he can.”

 

“All right.” Bilbo looked sideways at the dwarf riding beside him. Thorin seemed stuck as to how he should proceed, so Bilbo prompted him. “As far as hobbits and men and elves go, there are several other indicators as to which sex an individual belongs to. External indicators that all can see and recognise.”

 

Despite Bilbo not having posed his comment as a question, Thorin answered it as such.

 

“Not really,” he said uncomfortably. “Aside from the actual baby making parts, a dwarf's sex is almost impossible to determine. In fact, a large part of courtship is the delicate confirmation of which set of equipment your prospective partner is in possession of.”

 

“You can't just ask?” Bilbo said.

 

“If you desire an axe to the face,” Thorin shrugged. “It's something we're very private about. When I was small there was less strict secrecy, but after our home was taken from us and we were forced to wander it was soon made clear to us that men in particular felt different about trading with those born as bearers. After a couple of unfortunate incidents where a bearer was accosted by men who thought that they would be easy prey, we learnt that our best option was total secrecy. One is generally aware of what sex one's closest family is, but beyond that, no. And really, it's not anybody's business.”

 

“I see.” Bilbo found the whole thing rather strange. Not that it was important right now, because as far as he could tell there was only one reason that Thorin would be explaining all of this to him.

 

Well, at least this might explain something that had been niggling at his mind and nose for the past few hours. He decided to leave that to one side for later, and concentrate on what Thorin was revealing about dwarven culture. “So there are no labour restrictions based upon sex then?”

 

“Unless we speak of the birthing process, no.” Thorin replied. “However, if a bearer chooses to have young, she will find herself restricted from the more dangerous occupations until her dwarflings are grown. My sister was _not_ impressed that we retained that tradition.”

 

“Your sister was Fíli and Kili's bearer?” Bilbo asked, grabbing at the conversational rope. At Thorin's nod, he lowered his voice and continued a little more hesitantly. “And you are aware of what sex they were assigned?”

 

Thorin nodded again, a frown creasing his brow.

 

Bilbo fiddled with his reins a bit, before deciding to chance it. “You and Fíli are the same sex, and Kíli is the other one?” he nearly whispered it.

 

Thorin's frown grew thunderous. “How could you possibly know that?”

 

“I can smell it.” Bilbo said unhappily. “I had been wondering why some of the company smelled one way and the rest the other. I couldn't see any reason for it on the surface. It didn't seem to be familial, I confirmed that when I discovered Fíli and Kíli were brothers.”

 

“Are you telling me that you can _smell_ the sex of every dwarf in the company?” Thorin hissed, his eyes flashing.

 

“Look, I'm not purposefully invading their privacy!' Bilbo objected. “It's not something I can un-smell! I'll have you know that both my father and my mother taught me the value of discretion, and I assure you that I am quite used to keeping what I learn to myself. Now, are you going to tell me what you need to tell me, or are you going to get angry with me over something that I can't help any more than I can help not having a beard?”

 

Thorin subsided a bit, looking somewhat sheepish. “You may be right,” he said grudgingly. Then he frowned again. “You already know what I'm going to tell you, don't you?” he said accusingly.

 

“I think I may have worked it out.” Bilbo shrugged. “I can only think of one reason for you to tell me all of this, just after we spoke of bonding and sharing rooms in Bree.”

 

“It doesn't concern you?” Thorin asked, only the smallest trace of vulnerability in his voice. “I know that there are some who only feel attraction to one sex, and until now you have thought of me as male.”

 

“Sex, or gender, or whatever, doesn't really concern me.,” Bilbo replied. “You are my guide and I'm attracted to you, no matter what parts you have.”

 

“You're only attracted to me because I'm your guide?” Thorin said.

 

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “No, you're very handsome. So are both your sister-sons, for that matter. Are you only attracted to me because of your instincts? I don't have a beard, and you can see that I'm not any kind of warrior. I have value as a scout, I suppose, but that's hardly enough to tempt a king.”

 

Thorin gave a sigh. “All right, that was an unfair question. No, I find you most attractive, and care not for your lack of beard. And I have had any number of warriors seeking to court me with their displays of fighting prowess, but why would I be interested in such when I am one of our foremost warriors myself? If I want to test my skills, Dwalin is always available. He is one of the few who can consistently best me, you know.”

 

“Really?” Bilbo said. According to his nose, Dwalin was female as well. In fact nearly half the dwarves were female. He hesitated for a few moments. “What about the king thing, how does that work?”

 

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked.

 

“Never mind.”

 

Really, Bilbo thought, it had been a stupid question. Thorin had already said that the sex of the dwarf had nothing to do with job opportunities. Another thought struck him.

 

Oh Lady, hopefully this wouldn't be a horribly offensive thing to say. Fíli and Kíli hadn't seemed to mind when he brought it up earlier, but it was a little less personal then.

 

“I can see you want to ask something,” Thorin said, sounding rather amused. “Spit it out, halfling.”

 

“Halfling is a _very_ offensive term,” Bilbo stated firmly. “Unless you want me calling you rock-grubber, you will _never_ call me, or any other hobbit for that matter, that word ever again. I am not half of _anything_ , do you understand?”

 

Thorin nodded, looking slightly apprehensive. Bilbo pulled his finger out of his guide's face, and settled back on his pony. Perhaps he had gone a bit over the top with that, but then again he was not going to put up with that kind of language, thank you very much! Not from anyone!

 

“The question I was wanting to ask you, before you used that foul insult, is a bit delicate.” Bilbo thought about Thorin talking about axes to faces, and cast a quick glance over the sword that was sheathed on his guides back. Oh well, nothing for it. “Fíli said that you had shown no interest in reproducing. Is that truly the case, or was it more lack of opportunity?”

 

Thorin was starting to look thunderous again, and Bilbo hurried to explain.

 

“It's just that hobbits are very fertile! If you truly aren't interested in reproducing, there are probably certain activities we should avoid, that's all.”

 

Thorin relaxed again. “I hadn't given it a great deal of thought, to be honest,” he said in fairly calm tones. “There was never any time, and once my sister had ensured the continuation of our line, no real need either. Fíli and Kíli are both fine young dwarves, and they know their duty to the line of Durin. They know that at least one of them will need to produce young, and they are prepared for that. If I was to reproduce, that would take some of the pressure off them, true. I will have to think it over. What about you, do you want to sire young?”

 

“I don't mind one way or the other,” Bilbo replied. “Having young ones running around would be grand, of course, but my mothers family was so prolific that there have always been an abundance of fauntlings for me to sate my fatherly instincts on. Until a few days ago, I was of the belief that I would never find my guide, and that I would spend the rest of my life alone in Bag End, dreaming of adventure. The only reason I brought it up was so that the proper precautions could be taken in Bree.”

 

Thorin turned ever so slightly pink.

 

Bilbo was struck by another thought. “Given what you've said about dwarves devoting their lives to their craft, do you partake in recreational… I mean, do you get practice at making young ones before embarking on a courtship? Before the event, I mean?”

 

“No, not really,” Thorin answered, the pink deepening. “It's not something that occupies our thoughts, until we find our One.”

 

“Your one?” Bilbo asked. “Your one what?”

 

“This falls under racial secrets” Thorin warned, waiting for Bilbo to nod before continuing. “Back when the world was new, even before the elves were made, Mahal created the Seven Fathers, those from whom all dwarves are descended. The next bit is not relevant, except that the Seven Fathers slept deep in the earth for a time.

 

“When they awoke from their sleep, they went out into the world to find homes. The greatest of the Fathers, Durin, spoke to Mahal and asked for a life-mate, and so Mahal crafted for him a partner specially suited for him. When the other Fathers saw this, they also desired a handcrafted life-mate. Since then, all dwarves have a single life-mate that is their match, their One.

 

“Some dwarves never find their One, and others never care to. Sometimes a dwarf's One dies long before they have a chance to meet.

 

“There are those who do not choose to wait for their One, and they marry others. There have been those who reject their One for whatever reason. And there are those with obligations to continue their lines, whether they find their One or not.”

 

“You said you were descended from Durin?” Bilbo said. “I suppose that means that until your sister bore her dwarflings you had to give greater consideration to those who would court you.”

 

“My sister was blessed, and found her One in Ered Luin.” Thorin said with a fond smile. “Her life-mate was able to give her two fine dwarflings before he died in a mining accident. The moment Kíli was pronounced healthy I made it known that I was no longer entertaining courtship offers. I never believed I would find my One, and I had no desire for a political marriage to muddy the waters.”

 

“I see.” Bilbo desperately wanted to know if he was Thorin's One, but he was terrified of the answer. “And do dwarves ever find their One outside of their race?”

 

“It has been known to happen.” Thorin said, his beard twitching. “Not often though, and it when it does, it tends to end in sadness, due to the disparity in lifespans.”

 

“How long do dwarves live for?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Barring battle or accident, between two hundred and fifty and three hundred and fifty years.” Thorin replied. “There are other factors of course. We prosper best in a mountain, safe from the world and doing what we love. I myself am one hundred and ninety five, and I will be astonished if I make it to three hundred. There has been too much hardship, too many lean years where there was not enough food to go around, and young mouths to feed. Balin is already showing signs, he likely has only another fifty years left, and he is younger than I am. How is it for hobbits?”

 

“I am in my fiftieth year,” Bilbo said a bit numbly. “I can expect another fifty, possibly a little more as the Took side of my family has some very long lived members. Why, my grandfather Gerontius lived until he was one hundred and thirty! But he was exceptional, in more ways than one.”

 

“I remember him,” Thorin mused. “He was the Thain who made our trade deal, about twenty five years ago. Gandalf was the one who recommended we come to the Shire for aid when finally realised that our already meagre farming efforts weren't going to be enough to sustain us any longer. We came to the Shire as supplicants, and expected to be treated with the same disdain we received from the kingdoms of men. Instead we were welcomed, and managed to strike a deal that seemed too good to be true. I think I've been waiting for the axe to fall ever since.”

 

“Before we lived in the Shire, we hobbits roamed the area surrounding the Gladden Fields, on the other side of the Misty Mountains,” Bilbo explained. “Following the great war against Sauron, the lands were somehow tainted. We stayed for some time, hoping things would get better, but they didn't. Finally, we grouped ourselves into three tribes, ̶the Stoors, the Harfoots, and the Fallohides,̶ and set out to search for a new homeland. We wandered for years, and we learnt well the hardships of a dispossessed people.

 

“Finally we appealed to the Green Lady and she showed us the way to a beautiful green land. She promised to lay her blessings on this place, to make it ever bountiful and beautiful, and she sent an emissary to the Dúnedain King. He allowed us to settle in the Shire, and we have been here ever since, caring for the land the Lady blessed. Since then we have been lucky in our friends, the Dúnedain still patrol our borders in exchange for a negligible percentage of our harvest and Gandalf comes through every so often to ensure that we are thriving.

 

“Many hobbits no longer remember the lessons we were taught so harshly and what it was like to wander with no home. They know that the Shire is ours, and to leave is madness, but not why. However, my father's line was chief of the Harfoots while they wandered, and the Tooks were in charge of the Fallohides, and they both remember, and they both teach their faunts the old lessons.”

 

“The kindness your Thain showed my people is more clear now,” Thorin murmured. “I wish we had known this, it would have saved much suspicion and distrust.”

 

“We all have our secrets,” Bilbo returned. “We do not speak of the Time of Wandering, except during lessons. It was a difficult time, and our numbers had dwindled by more than half by the time we settled the Shire. I'm sure that you don't speak of the hardships your people have endured to outsiders either.”

 

“No, you are correct.” Thorin agreed. He hesitated a bit, before continuing. “We have wandered somewhat from our earlier discussion. You were asking about my experiences with others.”

 

“Right, yes,” Bilbo remembered. He cleared his throat a bit. “Well, hobbits don't have One's so to speak. Many hobbits wed and start families as soon as they come of age, and the time between when we grow interested in others and our coming of age is generally considered a good time for experimentation. We all know how little fauntlings come about, and so long as we're careful about that, no one minds what the young ones get up to. I was no different from any other hobbit my age until the Fell Winter.”

 

“When you awakened,” Thorin noted.

 

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed. “After that, I found the idea a little off-putting. I tried once or twice, but it didn't work very well and so I decided to wait for my guide, and see if that would change things.”

 

“And has it?” Thorin asked with a sort of forced casualness.

 

“Oh yes,” Bilbo said fervently, before feeling his face grow hot again. “I don't think I'll be having any issues there.”

 

They both looked very carefully at the scenery for the next few minutes.

 

“Well!” Bilbo said in a hearty voice when the silence got a bit uncomfortable. “I think we've covered a lot of ground this morning. If we continue on like this, we'll make it Bree early tomorrow afternoon.”

 

Thorin just nodded.

 

“I don't suppose you've given any thought to my initial question?” Bilbo asked. He wondered if mentioning Bree would always give him the shivers, and rather hoped so. Finding a bond-mate in a dwarven king was most unexpected, and he never wanted to lose the feeling of wonder he felt when he considered how easy it would have been for their paths to never have crossed.

 

“Which question was that?” Thorin said, finally meeting Bilbo's eyes again.

 

“The one relating to your sense of direction,” Bilbo replied. “Thorin, you got lost in the Shire. _Twice_. I don't think that's ever happened before. You don't need to be able to navigate foreign roads to be a great leader, but if you want to make it to Erebor without taking a detour through Gondor and Rohan, it might be best to appoint one of the others.”

 

“Oh, very well,” Thorin said in a put upon voice. “I can already see you're going to become an insufferable nag. If you insist, we can have Nori take the lead. He's done the most travelling, I think.”

 

Bilbo flashed his guide a huge smile, enjoying the way Thorin's cheeks turned pink again.

 

“We can still ride at the front,” he offered, “it's probably the best place for a sentinel anyway. There's no point in changing things until Bree, I'm probably the most familiar with these roads anyway. Thorin? Thorin!”

 

Thorin was frowning at the road again. When Bilbo finally managed to get his attention, he looked a little startled.

 

“I was just considering what to tell the others,” Thorin remarked in answer to Bilbo's questioning eyebrow. “About what's going to happen in Bree, I mean.”

 

“Surely they don't need to know all the details?” Bilbo objected. Didn't Thorin just say that dwarves were rather private? Why would he want to advertise something like this? Not even the boldest of Bilbo's Took cousins had been _that_ brazen.

 

“No!” Thorin hissed, his face flaming. “I mean about you being a sentinel, and that I'm your guide.”

 

“Oh,” Bilbo considered it for a moment. “So long as they all agree to be bound by the racial secrets agreement, I have no problem sharing that information with them. It would probably make things much easier if I don't have to try and hide where some of my knowledge is coming from.”

 

“There may be a bit of unrest at your ability to invade everyone's privacy,” Thorin suggested.

 

Bilbo shrugged. “There's not much I can do about that. But you are their king, and they will most likely follow your lead.”

 

“Very well,” Thorin said reluctantly. “We can discuss it this evening after the camp is set up.”

 

“Don't sound so gloomy,” Bilbo said, feeling immensely cheerful. “I'm sure it will all turn out fine. What could possibly happen that's worse than a dragon?”

 

“A fine perspective to have on life,” Thorin said with a smile twitching at his beard. “There's not much that's worse than a dragon, after all. I can see you will keep me on my toes, Bilbo Baggins, and that is no bad thing.”

 

“I'm sure you'll deserve every second of it,” Bilbo said with a grin. When Thorin's smile grew larger, Bilbo could feel the lurching of his stomach increase as well.

 

Spotting some of his Brandybuck relatives coming out of their houses to see the long line of dwarves on ponies riding by, Bilbo waved to them happily.

 

Just up ahead he could see his lynx leaping and tumbling through the long grass with what looked like a badger.

 

It was a beautiful day, his guide was beside him, and there was something very much to be looked forward to in Bree.

 

Okay, so there may be a dragon in the future, but now was the moment he was living in, and he was determined to do just that. After all, it was possible that the dragon was already dead, no need to borrow trouble.

 

All in all, it was a grand start to his first adventure.

 

 

The End

 


End file.
